Photo Prompts: Baby Face Photo Play 2

Baby_Face Photo Play

Thanks to our photographers and poets who participated in last week’s Baby Face Photo Prompts. We were inspired by the collection of photographs and poetry, steeped in back story. Along with a few snapshots, here’s a recent poem from Sharon we enjoyed:

Little one so tiny and new
We’ve been waiting just for you
And now that you’re with us, we want you to know
Little one… You’re home

There will be time for tears later on
So close your eyes now and sleep ‘til the dawn
Together we’ll travel, together we’ll grow
So Little one… Sleep on

In your heart God’s written a song
All about you and how you belong
And no one can sing it exactly like you
So little one… Sing on

Your on special dreams are waiting for you
Don’t let the world tell you dreams can’t come true
For you are the weaver of life’s tapestry
So little one… Weave on

Little one so tiny and new
We’ve been waiting just for you
And now that you’re with us, we want you to know
Little one
My little one
Sweet little one… You’re home

—by Sharon Riddell

Be sure to check out the rest of our favorite highlights from each participant on the Photo Play Pinterest board. And keep clicking and/or playing with words.

NOTE TO POETS: Looking for your Monday prompt? On Photo Play days, it’s right here. Choose a photo and use it to jump start a poem! Post it in the comment box. We’ll be reading.

Featured photos by S. Etole and Simply Darlene. Post by Heather Eure.


Sometimes we feature your poems in Every Day Poems, with your permission of course. Thanks for writing with us!

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  1. says

    I only have a few keepsakes from my babyhood so those little boots (the exact ones from the image) are a treasure!

    Somehow I ended up with my little sister’s pair too… probably because she’d never wear a pair of kickers these days. 😉

    Thanks for the prompt!

  2. says

    This is not a photograph of me, but suits the poem. I captured it from a composite You Tube

    Of No One

    As children, it was real to us,
    the timing, length and hue.

    Once discovered we forgot to notice
    the changing shape
    going out ahead of us,
    as if to say—arms around each other—
    we are three.

    Over time it was only shade,
    cloudy days and ruined picnics,
    a slice across a silver moon.

    It was the dark mirror
    that confirmed us,
    even as we forgot to look
    along the avenues,
    living under a borrowed sun;

    perhaps when we are also grey.

    Tonight we say there is work to do,
    or a rough day to mend―

    through the window, the empty moon
    lays the ineffectual sunlight

    into this room of candles,
    where I write alone.

    My hand reaches for a glass
    and below a darkness
    on the table cowers close,
    as if it were afraid.


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